"I heard of it just now; in fact, I looked in here to see if Merehaven could tell me anything about it. How those newspapers get hold of these things puzzles me. But I don't suppose it is true that poor old Dick Lancing committed suicide at his club, and——"
"It's perfectly true, Lechmere. I was in the club directly after, and I followed on to Charing Cross Hospital, only to find that I was too late. What you say about the newspapers is absolutely correct. But, unless I am greatly mistaken, the newspaper containing the startling report in question will help me over this matter. I am going to make a proposal to Lord Merehaven."
"I've been trying to get at him. But the Austrian Ambassador has held him fast for the last hour."
"Well, there is plenty of time," Varney went on. "From what I can understand papers of the utmost importance have been stolen from the Foreign Office, or they have been sold by some official to the foe. On the face of it, the charge points to poor Lancing; but one never can tell. Those papers relate to a kind of understanding with Asturia, and if Russia gets to know all about it then we are done. Now, let me tell you a little thing that happened to-night. There was a burglary at Countess Saens' house, and the thief took nothing but papers. The thief was a woman, who obviously went to the countess' for the very purpose of obtaining possession of those papers. Now, it is only a theory of mine, but I feel pretty sure that the papers have to do with the Foreign Office scandal. If we get to the bottom of it, we shall find that the countess inspired the paragraph that the Evening Mercury had to-night. Do you happen to know anything about the editor of that sheet?"
"Fellow named Hunt, an American," Lechmere replied. "As a matter of fact, the Mercury is an American paper, the first start of an attempt to capture the English Press. You know how those fellows boast. I've met Hunt several times in society."
"Did you ever happen to meet him at Countess Saens' house?" Varney asked.
Lechmere turned over the question before he replied. On consideration he had seen Hunt twice at the house in question. Not that that was very material, because all sorts and conditions of men flocked to the countess' evening parties. But Varney thought otherwise.
"At any rate, the fact fits in well with my theory," he said. "I shall be greatly surprised if we fail to find a connection between the countess and that sensational story in to-night's Mercury. I shall make it my business to meet this man Hunt. Well, what is the matter?" A breathless footman stood before Varney, and stammered out something to the effect that Lord Merehaven had sent him here hot-foot in search of the doctor. A gentleman had been taken suddenly ill. The rest of the guests did not know anything about it, and the gentleman in question lay in a state of collapse in his lordship's study. Would Dr. Varney come at once. Varney was on his way to the house before the footman had finished his halting explanation.
The study door was locked, but it was opened immediately on Varney whispering his name. In a big armchair a white-haired man in evening dress was lying back in a state of collapse. By his side stood Lord Merehaven, looking anxious and bewildered, whilst [Ronald Hope was trying to force a little brandy between the lips] of the unconscious figure in the chair.
